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BUBBLES 



B ComeDg In Zbtcc acts 



By JANE SWENARTON 



Copyright 1916 by Dick & Fitzgerald 



NEW YORK 
DICK & FITZGERALD 

18 Ann Street 



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©GI.0 43939 


m 18 1916 




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NOTE. — The professional acting rights of this play are ex- 
pressly reserved by the publishers to whom theatrical managers 
who wish to produce it should apply. Amateur representation 
may be made without such application and without charge. 



BUBBLES. 



f Their children 



CHARACTERS. 

James Evans An American father 

Linda Evans His wife 

Patricia 

Barbara, familiarly known as " Barbie ' 

Peter An old friend of Patricia 

Chester Fields A suitor of Patricia 

Grandfather, knowti to " Barbie " as '' Granda " 

Jonathan A boy doll 

Time. — The present. Locality. — Suburb of any city. 

Time of Playing. — One and a half hours. 



SYNOPSIS. 

Act L — Scene, garden of Evans' home. Time, afternoon. 
Act IL — Scene I, same as Act L Time, late afternoon of the 
following day. Scene II, nearly midnight. 
Act III. — Scene, same as Act I. Time, evening of next day. 

COSTUMES. 

Modern and appropriate to characters portrayed. 

3 



4 Bubbles. 

INCIDENTAL PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Tennis rackets and balls on bench. Magazines, papers, 
books. Basket of daisies on table. Spectacles for Grandfather. 
Tennis racket for Peter. 

Act II. — Cane for Chester. Tennis racket for Peter. Book. 
Scene II. — Pebbles for Chester. Lighted candle and shoe for 
Barbie. 

Act III, — White table-cloth, teacups and saucers, plates, loaf of 
bread, bread knife, and bowl of berries for Mrs. Evans, News- 
paper and plate of butter for Mr. Evans. Pitcher of cream for 
Patricia, 

STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

As seen by a performer on the stage facing the audience, R., 
means right-hand ; l., left-hand ; c, center of stage ; r. e., right 
entrance ; l. e., left entrance ; r. c, right of center. Up, towards 
back of stage; down, towards footlights. 



BUBBLES. 



ACT I. 



SCENE. — A garden backed by house front; practical door (c. D.)' 
center with tzt'o steps; three windows visible, two on lower 
floor and one (practical) on upper floor. If available a vine- 
covered arbor may be arched over c. d. Entrances up right 
(r. e.) and UP left (l. e.) r. c. a tree with circular bench at 
base and a seat aloft. The tree can be readily constructed of 
one piece of painted scenery with two or three rather large 
openings to represent the partings between branches. 
Natural leafy branches may be wired or nailed to the tree 
so as to give the impression of a lozv leafy tree. The top 
step of a step-ladder of the usual height placed in back of 
and concealed by the tree will furnish the seat aloft for 
Barbie ; the steps are sufficiently apart to give the illusion of 
one climbing a tree. On the bench are tennis rackets, balls, 
etc. Down l. a table with one or more arm-chairs and two 
or three ordinary chairs around it. On table, magazines, 
newspapers, books, etc., and a basket of flowers. An air of 
unconventional ease and well-being should predominate, as 
both garden and house should represent the marks of a com- 
fortable suburban home, the garden being the general loiter- 
ing place of the family. Time, afternoon of a day in early 
summer. 

DISCOVERED Barbie on the bench zvith Jonathan 
propped against the tree-trunk. Throughout the scene she 
supplies Jonathan's remarks in a deep bass voice and inani- 
pulates his arms for gestures. 

Barbie. Jonathan, I caught a little fish this morning. I caught 
him on a pin too ; mother won't let me have fish-hooks like Pat. 
She says Pat. knows how to take care of herself 'cause she's 
older than I. I guess I know as much as Pat. does, if she is 
eighteen. Do you want to hear what that fish said to me? He 

5 



6 Bubbles. 

was a talking fish, Jonathan, and he lives down in the bottom of 
that brook; but he knows all about us, he does. Well, he said, 
" Your big sister Patricia (he even knows her name, Jonathan) 
is an awful silly ; " he said. I had to interrupt him then, be- 
cause you see, I have to stand up for Pat. 'cause she belongs to 
my family. Father said we ought to. But I agreed with the 
fish inside. The fish said I didn't know much ; he was rather 
rude and sassy, Jonathan. He said Patricia's going to get into 
trouble if she isn't careful. I s'pose he meant about Chester 
Fields. Mother says I must call him Mr. Fields ; but I don't have 
to, to you, Jonathan; do I? I'd rather call him "Chessie"; he 
looks like a chessie. Pat. thinks he's grand ; I guess she thinks 
she's in love with him. I like Peter better, if his hair does 
stand on end. Peter doesn't treat me as if I was a worm! 
Granda doesn't like Peter though. But I guess Granda doesn't 
like any young men ; he doesn't want them to know he is deaf. 
You see, Jonathan dearest, they dont' know how very companion- 
able Granda is. I learned that word yesterday; father said it 
about Peter. I'll tell you what, Jonathan ! Let's pretend we're 
Pat. and Chessie. You sit here and hold my hand. He hasn't 
done that yet, but I know he wants to. You begin. (Mrs. 
Evans appears in the doorway and stands watching with smiling 
face) 

Jonathan. Miss Evans, how long have I known you? 

Barbie. Three weeks, I think, Mr. Fields. (She glances at 
Jonathan coyly and sighs) 

Jon. It seems an eternity. 

Barbie (mincingly). Oh, does the time seem so long when 
you are with me, Mr. Fields? 

Jon. Oh my dear Miss Evans, you know I did not mean that. 
It is only that I feel we have always known each other. 

Barbie. Do you believe in infinity of souls, Mr. Fields? 

Jon. I have believed in it for three weeks, — Patricia. 

Barbie. Oh Mr. Fields, you are such a flatterer !— You ought 
to kiss my hand there, Jonathan; but I'll do it for you. "Ches- 
sie " hasn't done that yet, but I can see he is dying to. 

Mrs. Evans (advancing to table). What's the game, dear? 

Barbie. 'Tisn't a game, mother. It's real life. We're doing 
Pat. and Chester Fields. 

Mrs. Evans. MR. Fields, dear. (She takes up a magazine) 

Barbie. But mother, I don't think he acts like a Mister. 

Mrs. Evans (her eyes on page of magazine). How does he 
act, Barbie? 



Bubbles. 7 

Barbie. Granda says he acts like a nincompoop. 

Mrs. Evans. Barbara, you must not use such expressions f 

Barbie. Granda does and I think he uses lovely language. 

Mrs. Evans (hastily, to avoid an embarrassing issue). Tell 
mother about Pat. and Mr. Fields. (She lays down the maga- 
zine and sits beside Barbie) 

Barbie (innocently). I think Pat. is in love with him, mother. 

Mrs, Evans. Good heavens, child, don't say such things ! 
(She grasps Barbie's arm) Does the child know what she is 
saying, I wonder? 

Barbie. Of course I do, mother. Aren't people in love when 
they look at each other like this, and sit ever so close, and read 
books and then hide them ? 

Mrs. Evans. Barbara, don't tell mother stories. Is this true? 

Barbie. Do you want to know the name of the book, mother? 
It's a pretty name, I think. " One Heart's Struggle." Shall I 
recite some of it for you? I learned it 'cause it was so pretty. 
(She drazvs herself up, hugs Jonathan, and begins in a childish 
voice but with a tone that shows her appreciation of the ro- 
mantic) 

" The night air thrills with the scent of a thousand roses. A 
balmy breeze wafts incense through all the dreamy gardens. The 
moon casts a troubled light on the everlasting laurels that rim 
the lake. Aurelia, seated on the marble bench amid the sleeping 
flowers, looks, in the moonlight, like a very queen of night. Her 
beautiful form is as still as the night itself and betrays not the 
bitter agitation that possesses her heart and mind. A light foot- 
fall sounds on the walk. She heeds it not at all. Lord Beau- 
champ steals upon her ere she is aware. 

' Ah ! dreaming. Miss Herrington ? ' he asks gayly. 

Dim as is the light, he can see that it is only with the utmost 
efifort that she speaks. 

' Almost,' she murmurs faintly." 
Isn't it beautiful, mother? (With a giggle) I asked Pat. how 
to pronounce Aurelia and Lord Beauchamp and she looked queer. 
The next day I couldn't find the book in the hiding-place. And 
I do so want to read some more! (Mrs. Evans looks zvorried; 
she is about to speak, when Mr. Evans and Grandfather appear 
in the doorway. Grandfather stands on the top step, making 
unsuccessful attempts to get down) 

Evans. Shall I help you down, father? 

Granda. Eh ? 



8 Bubbles. 

Evans (louder). Shan't I help you down? 

Granda (crankily). Good Gad, can't you open your mouth 
when you speak? Can't hear a word. 

Evans (exasperated, but amused, about to shout again, ivhen 
Barbie runs forivard). Oh Barbie to the rescue again. 

Barbie. I'll help you down, Granda. (She takes his hand; his 
manner changes instantly) 

Granda (patting Barbie on the head). Bless the child; she's a 
mighty help to the old man. 

Barbie (screaming). Here's your chair, Granda, under the 
tree. I'll sit here on the bench with Jonathan. 

Granda (sits, puts on his spectacles, takes up paper and dis- 
appears behind it). Ah! (Mr. and Mrs. Evans sit down at 
table) 

Evans (prepares to read newspaper). Well, my dear, how has 
the day's work gone? Hello! Anything gone wrong? You 
look worried. 

Mrs. Evans. I am worried about — oh, about everything! 
Here's Barbara using all of father's expressions and 

Granda (looking up suddenly). Eh? 

Mrs. Evans. Nothing, father. 

Granda (sharply). What, speaking to me? Can't you do any- 
thing but mumble, Linda? 

Evans (mildly). She wasn't speaking to you, father. 

Granda (zvith groiving irritation). Yes, yes, I heard her 
speaking to me. But what did she say? 

Mrs. Evans (patiently). I didn't say anything to you, dear. 

Granda. Didn't say anything! Nonsense, I heard you. 
Mumbling, always mumbling. (In a paroxysm of rage) Every- 
body in this house mumbles! Good Gad, if you want me to talk 
to you, you'll have to speak! (Retires behind his paper in high 
dudgeon. Barbie plays contentedly zvith Jonathan) 

Evans (humorously). Old chap's off again, isn't he? Go on, 
Linda. What's this about my Barbie? 

Mrs. Evans. The child adores her grandfather and naturally 
she thinks she is at liberty to say whatever he does. And you 
know father ! 

Evans. Pshaw ! It can't hurt the child. What has she picked 
up now? 

Mrs. Evans. This morning it was nincompoop; (Laughing in 
spite of herself) she applied it to Chester Fields. 

Evans (chuckling). Good enough tool 



Bubbles. 9 

Mrs. Evans. And when I reproved her, she had her answer 
ready — " Granda says it." 

Granda (stirring). Eh? What? 

Mrs. Evans. Nothing, father. 

Granda. Nothing again, is it? Is that the only answer I am 
to get in this house? I say, if you want to talk to me, you'll 
have to 

Mrs. Evans (whispering). Barbie dear, won't you take 
Granda for a walk. 

Granda. Speak ! 

Barbie (springing up). Come on, Granda! Let's hunt grass- 
hoppers ! 

Granda (rising). Eh? In the grass? God bless the child! 
If I sat down in the grass, I'd never get up again. 

Barbie (screaming). I said grasshoppers, Granda! Like this. 
(She illustrates; they pass out l. e., each holding a hand of 
Jonathan) 

Mrs. Evans. Poor old father. He's the least of my troubles. 

Evans. Well now, what is it, dear? 

Mrs. Evans. James, these children will be the death of me. 
I don't believe we give half enough thought to their bringing-up. 

Evans (slyly). Don't you think you give enough for two? 

Mrs. Evans. Please don't poke fun. I was reading an article 
the other day on The Responsibility of Twentieth Century Par- 
ents 

Evans (chuckling). I met Burton on the train this evening; 
he says Mrs. Burton reads so many articles these days that he is 
thinking of locking her up. Lord ! what a face the poor fellow 
turned on me as he said, " Evans, what in thunder are the women 
folks coming to ? " I told him they were coming to their own. 
(More chuckling) And now it seems my own is coming to! 
Linda, has it come to this? (With humorous sternness) Shall 
I have to lock you up, woman ? 

Mrs. Evans (stifling the inclination to laugh; then determin- 
edly). Now see here, James Evans. You keep still. I've some- 
thing to say and I zvill say it. You just do as the kiddies say — • 
you "shut up." (She shakes her linger in his face winningly) 

Evans {with mock resignation). Come on, Macduff! 

Mrs. Evans (sternly). Not another word! This is what I 
want to say. Here we are with these children to bring up. It 
is our responsibility. I shan't be selfish and say that most of the 
care is mine. But / must think if you won't. Do you realize 
that Patricia is eighteen, almost a woman grown ? And do you 



10 Bubbles. 

know that lately she has been mooning about with that young 
Chester Fields? — actually a case of calf-love, I'm afraid. 

Evans (raising a hand). Please, may I speak? 

Mrs. Evans. One w^ord. 

Evans. Can't do it in one. Please, Patricia is my daughter; 
therefore she has too much good sense to fall in love with that 
young monkey. I know my Pat. 

Mrs. Evans. But it is true ! Barbie sees everything, you 
know. And the child says she has seen them billing and cooing. 
She was having it all over with Jonathan a minute ago, — holding 
Jonathan's hand and all that. Oh, laugh if you will ! 

Evans. My Pat. and that jackanapes! 

Mrs. Evans. The question is — shall I speak to her, gently of 
course, and risk defiance, or shall I stand by and let things run 
their natural course and risk a tragic ending. (Appealingly) 
James, do help me. 

Evans. My dear girl, do you remember certain theories we 
evolved when the children were little tads? How you said you 
intended to let them grow up naturally? That you would do the 
necessary guiding — wait a minute — and leave the rest to them ? 
No, this isn't necessary gviiding, — not in our Pat.'s case. Didn't 
you ever have a case of calf-love yourself? Linda, look me in 
the eyes and 

Mrs. Evans (spitefully yet humorously). Yes, when I fell in 
love with you. Oh dear, I think I married you for my sins ! 

Evans. Now you " shut up " ; it's my turn. And didn't you 
say then that fathers and mothers did entirely too much jawing 
and didn't give their children credit for the sense they were born 
with? Didn't you? Eh? 

Mrs. Evans. Yes, but 

Evans. Hold on! Not yet! Linda, I'd bet my hat on Pat.'s 
common sense. Let her have her foolish time and then she'll 
wake up and see how young she is. Remember Kipling's advice : 
Let the puppy eat the soap in the bathroom so that when he is 
an old dog, he won't make a fool of himself. By the way, I 
haven't seen Peter lately. I thought he and Pat. were great 
pals. 

Mrs. Evans. That is the worst of it. She won't have any- 
thing to do with Peter now, and Peter is such a good all-round 
boy, that she couldn't be silly with him. Barbie says, in her 
comical way, that Peter and Pat. are out. 

Evans. Barbie, the little minx. I bet on her too ! She's an- 
other of my daughters. Well, here is my advice, my last word. 



Bubbles. Jl 

motHer. When you get an idea, once fairly have it, and are sure 
it is a good one, — stick to it. 

Mrs. Evans (rather timidly). But don't you think we have 
to change our ideas and our theories with time and growth? 

Evans. Hang time and growth ! That's the trouble with folks 
— they grow up. Look here, my dear, you are a wise little, fool- 
ish little girl of twenty-five. You never grew up at all. Do you 
hear it? Again I say — once you have an idea, call it a theory if 
you like, make sure it is a good one, and stick to it. 

Mrs. Evans (still doubtful). But Barbie says too 

Evans. Let the kiddie speak for herself. Here she comes. 

Mrs. Evans. She will. Be sure of that ! 

ENTER Barbie l. e., running, swinging Jonathan hy one arm. 
She cuddles up to her mother. Mr. Evans reads news- 
paper. 

Barbie. Mother, sometimes I wish Jonathan was a donkey. 

Mrs. Evans (faintly amused). Why, dear? 

Barbie. 'Cause — sometimes he isn't very 'sponsive and then I 
wish he had long ears so he could hear better. (After a pause) 
Pat. is luckier than I am ; she doesn't have to wish Peter was a 
donkey. He is one already. 

Mrs. Evans. Barbara, how dare you say such a naughty thing. 
You are not a nice little girl to-day. (Evans becomes interested)] 

Barbie. Well, mother, Granda said so. 

Mrs. Evans. Said what? 

Barbie. He said just yesterday that Peter is a donkey. He 
says that lots of people are, not only Peter. And I knew at 
once what he meant. Poor Granda can't be a donkey because he 
can't hear very well. (Evans and Mrs. Evans exchange glances; 
Evans amused, Mrs. Evans anxious but unable to suppress 
mirth ) 

Mrs. Evans (throwing up her hands with a comical little ges- 
ture of despair). What under the sun shall I do? She is with 
him continually and picks up all his choice expressions. I can't 
exactly refuse to allow her to associate with my own father, 
can I? 

Evans. My dear woman, I never saw any one so devoted to 
the role of Martha as you are. " Leave them alone and they'll 
come home, wagging their tails behind them." It's the only way 
to treat humans — leave 'em alone. (Chuckling, he takes up his 
paper) 



Id Bubbles. 

Mrs. Evans {provoked) . Yes! How many reforms would be 
wrought in the world if folks were all like you? That's fine ad- 
vice to give to a twentieth century mother. If I don't guide my 
children, how will they ever turn out good women? {She looks 
expectantly at Evans ivho remains buried in his paper) James, 
I do think you might give me a little support occasionally ! 

Barbie {breaking in). Oh father, isn't mother's mouth ex- 
actly like Granda's when he says " Good Gad, child, don't mum- 
ble." {Picks up Jonathan and is preparing to climb to her seat 
in the tree) 

Mrs. Evans {blushing and looking sharply at Barbie. Crosses 
to Mr. Evans looking rather sheepish and pats him on the head 
repentantly). Well, you are all too much for me. {Sighs and 
starts toward house) 

Evans {rising to go with her). Foolish girl, can't you see 
that you work more reform by setting the good example that you 
do, than any other woman could work in a hundred years by 
continual lecturing. How can I worry about the kids when you 
are their mother. {As they go into the house Mrs. Evans is 
seen to slap him playfully. Barbie, alone in the tree sings a 
pretty arrangement of Stevenson's "I Have a Little Shadow" or 
any other available song) 

JoN. {clapping, under Barbie's management). That's beauti- 
ful, sweetheart. 

Barbie {quaintly). I do sing rather well, don't I, Jonathan? 
{She stops and appears to listen) Hush, Jonathan ! " A light 
footfall sounds on the walk." Goody ! Here comes Peter ! 

ENTER L. e. Pat. and Peter evidently in the throes of a quarrel. 
Pat. sits down and turns her back on Peter pettishly. Peter 
zvalks distractedly back and forth swinging his tennis racket 
and looking anxiously at Pat. Barbie peers down and listens 
eagerly. 

Peter {after a long silence). I do think you might at least 
speak to a fellow ! 

Pat. {haughtily) . I have nothing to say. 

Peter. But what have I done? 

Pat. {coldly, with meaning). You have been. 

Peter {not understanding). Wh — at? Is that any reason to 
turn a fellow down? Great Hat! You can't please some girls! 

Pat. If you know one you can please, pray go to her. {Acts 
as if about to go into house) 



Bubbles. IS! 

Peter (exasperated). Yes, there you go. Get me all mixed, 
and then leave me in a muddle ! That's a girl for you ! 

Pat. Oh, do say something original. (Turns) I can't see 
that I got you into a muddle — you got yourself into it. I 
really wish you would not use such vulgar words. Muddle! 

Peter. Pshaw ! You used it yourself. 

Pat. I was only quoting you. (Stands gazing pensively into 
the distance) 

Peter. Huh! But what in Cat's name have I done to you? I 
don't deserve to be treated as if I were the lowest 

Barbie (with a squeal of delight). Oh! It's just like Balaam 
and the Ass! Oh Jonathan, it is! (Pat. and Peter stand gaz- 
ing up horrified and ashamed) 

Pat. Barbie, you disgusting child, come down this minute. 
How dare you hide up there and listen to things. 

Barbie (almost in tears). I didn't hide. Father says it isn't 
honorable to hide and hear eavesdroppings. This is my place. 
Father made it for me. 

Pat. It's a pretty thing if a girl of eighteen can't have a place 
of her own to receive her friends in without 

Barbie. You don't look much like friends. 

Peter (bursting into a laugh in which Barbie joins with a 
squeal). Come down, Barbara Frietchie, and tell us about 
Balaam and the Ass. I've forgotten that yarn. 

Barbie. I'll come down if Pat. asks me. 

Pat. Oh for goodness sake, Barbie, don't be absurd. Come 
down this minute. 

Barbie. Is that a command or a request, Peter? 

Peter (solemnly). I should call it an emphatic invitation, 
Barbie. 

Barbie. All right. Here I come. (Descends from tree) 

Peter (sits dozen comfortably; Pat. listens scornfully). 
Now for old Balaam. 

Barbie (she drazvs herself up and hugs Jonathan as before). 

" And Balaam rose up in the morning and saddled his ass and 
went with the princess. And God's anger was kindled against 
Balaam because he went, and the angel of the Lord stood in the 
way for an adversary against him. Now he was riding upon the 
ass (and his two servants were with him) and the ass saw the 
angel of the Lord standing in the way and his sword drawn in 
his hand : and the ass turned aside out of the way and went into 
the field; and Balaam smote the ass to turn her into the way. 
But the angel of the Lord stood in a path of the vineyards, a 



14 Bubbles. 

wall being on this side and a wall on that side. And when the 
ass saw the angel of the Lord, she thrust herself unto the wall, 
and crushed Balaam's foot ; and he smote her again. And the- 
angel of the Lord went further and stood in a narrow place, 
where there was no way to turn either to the right hand or to 
the left. And when the ass saw the angel of the Lord, she fell 
down under Balaam : and Balaam's anger was kindled, and he 
smote the ass with a staff. And the Lord opened the mouth of 
the ass, and she said unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee, 
that thou hast smitten me these three times." 
That's all. And that is just like what you said to Pat. And 
Granda said yesterday that you are a donkey ! 

Peter (roars with laughter). Heavens! what a young one! 
Good enough, Barbara Frietchie. 

Pat. The child reads everything under the sun. What will 
it be next. 

Barbie (innocently). I hope it will be One Heart's Struggle. 
(Looks coquettishly at Pat.) "Ah, dreaming. Miss Herring- 
ton ? " 

Pat. (sharply). Barbara, if you don't go into the house at 
once, I'll 

Barbie (running off R. E., singing). I like Peter better than 
Chessie Fields, anyway. 

Peter. Say, Pat, honest — can't you tell a fellow what's the 
matter — where he's wrong? You haven't spoken a civil word to 
me for three weeks. Ever since this Fields chap 

Pat. Not another word, Peter. I am glad to say " that Fields 
chap " is a gentleman and never presumes to call me by a vulgar 
nickname. 

Peter. I'd like to hear him try it ! 

Pat. He has as much right as you have. 

Peter. Oh, so I have a right, after all. (Whistles) Very 
well. Madam Pat., will you or won't you play me a set of tennis 
after supper? 

Pat. (languidly). It will really be too hot for tennis to-night. 
And besides, I have an appointment with Mr. Fields. 

Feter (enraged). By George, you needn't ! You needn't ! 

[EXIT rapidly l. e. 

CURTAIN. 



Bubbles. 15 



ACT II. 

SCENE. — Same as Act I. Late afternoon of same day. A 
bright afternoon sun floods the scene. A hook under the 
cushion on wicker chair. Patricia is DISCOVERED at the 
base of the tree, looking pensively off into the distance. 
Barbie sits disconsolately on the top step. Jonathan is 
lying under bench, protruding slightly. 

Barbie (chanting dismally). My father's gone away, and my 
mother's gone away, and Jonathan has lost himself, and my sister 
doesn't love me any more! {Looks expectantly at Patricia, 
ivho continues her pensive perusal of the distance. Barbie con- 
tinues, singing a little louder) My mother's gone away, and my 
father's gone away, and my Granda's gone away, and my sister 
doesn't love me any more! (Tries the effect of a smothered sob. 
As there is no noticeable effect on Patricia, Barbie begins again 
with a more pronounced sob) And Jonathan lost himself! (As 
there is still no effect, she now almost howls) My father's gone 
away, and my mother's 

Pat. (sharply). For goodness sake. Barbie, stop! You've 
said that six times now. 

Barbie (in an injured tone). Mother says it isn't honest to pre- 
tend you don't hear when you do. I did it one morning when 
mother came in to wake me. I wasn't asleep but I was think- 
ing and I didn't want to be 'sturbed — just like you now, only I 
wasn't thinking about Chester Fields. I kept just as still, stilly, 
and mother went out again. I told her all about it later 'cause I 
was ashamed. Are you ashamed, Pat.? (No anszver. Patricia 
has lapsed into the pensive mood again. Barbie continues plain- 
tively) I'm terribly lonesome without Jonathan. (Standing on 
top step and playing her last card) " The night air thrills with 
the scent of a thousand roses. A balmy breeze wafts its incense 
through all the dreamy gardens. (Patricia stirs slightly) The 
moon casts a troubled light on the everlasting laurels that rim 
the lake. Aurelia, seated on the marble bench amid the sleep- 
ing " 



16 Bubbles. 

Pat. Barbie, you tiresome child! (Barbie begins to sob 
loudly. Patricia, ashamed, goes to her) Barbie dear, sister did 
not mean it. There, darling, please don't. Sister didn't mean it; 
she does love you too. 

Barbie (recovering quickly). I wasn't crying about you, Pat. 
I was thinking of Miss Herrington amid the sleeping flowers. 
(Begins again tragically). " She betrays not the bitter agita- 
tion — " (Patricia, cold and scornful, goes back to her former 
position) I think it is very sad, don't you, Pat.? (No answer. 
Barbie continues, under her breatli, testing Patricia's mood) 
Jonathan is lost, Pat. 

Pat. (indifferently). Have you looked for him? 

Barbie. No indeedy ! / never look for him. (Assuming air 
of hauteur) It's Iiis place to look for me. Would you look for 
Chessie if he lost himself? 

Pat. (sternly). Barbara, I forbid you to speak in that disre- 
spectful tone of Mr, Fields. 

Barbie (saucily). Fiddlesticks! (Before Patricia can frame 
a reproof) Granda says it! (Patricia casts a wrathful glance 
at her, then outivitted, turns her back on her. Barbie, finding 
herself in danger of being neglected again, runs to Patricia zvith 
a soft cry) Fat., please — I'm awful sorry. I'll never again — 
Pat. — please ! 

Pat. (relenting, puts her arm about Barbie). Barbie, some- 
times you aren't very kind to sister. 

Barbie. I'm going up there to my place now and be good, Pat. 
dear. 

Pat. (hastily). Oh no, Barbie, I shouldn't go up there now, 
if I were you. 

Barbie (assuming an impish, knowing look). Huh! I guess 
you don't want me to be up there when Chessie comes. 

Pat. (thoroughly exasperated and looking meaningly at Bar- 
bara). Barbara, one of us had better go into the house, I think. 

Barbie (siveetly). I guess it had better be you 'cause I'll 
have to be here if Jonathan comes back. 

Pat. (defeated, retreats in disgust. On step, turning ma- 
jestically). Barbie, you will call me when Mr. Fields comes. 

Barbie (cooingly). Uh-huh. (EXIT Patricia into house. 
Barbie sits in the ivicker chair and falls into a reverie in comical 
imitation of Patricia. No sound for several minutes) I wish 
Peter would come, he always talks to me. Oh dear, I want my 
Jonathan. 



Bubbles. t'f 

ENTER L. E. Chester Fields, in immaculate flannels. 

Chester (goes softly behind Barbie's chair and raps it smartly 
with his cane). Ah! crying, Miss Barbara? 

Barbie {springing tip). I'm not! 

Chester {attempting to be playful). Oh yes you were, young 
lady. I know ; I've seen girls cry before. 

Barbie. I guess you never saw my sister Patricia cry. My 
father calls her a Spartan. 

Chester. As to that — By the way. Miss Pepper-tongue, per- 
haps you'll be so good as to call Miss Patricia? 

Barbie. All right, I'll call " Miss Patricia." (Goes slozvly 
toward c. D.) 

Chester (sits down carefully on bench; strikes his foot 
against something protruding slightly from under it; leaning 
down he draws out Jonathan). Pshaw! Here's the ridiculous 
doll the spoiled child plays with. 

Barbie {screaming and running back, snatching the doll from 
Chester). Don't you dare touch Jonathan. Jonathan's very 
particular about his friends! {Hugs Jonathan and murmurs 
endearing zvords to him. Turns her eyes upon Chester, zuho is 
visibly embarrassed) Is your name Chester, {She purrs the 
word) Mr. Fields? 

Chester. Yes, that's my name. 

Barbie. I think it sounds just like you. But "Chessie" 
sounds more like you. Would you mind if I called you 
" Chessie "? 

Chester {stiffly). I certainly should mind. 

Barbie. All right. I won't then — 'cept to Jonathan. 

Chester. See here, child, will you please tell your sister that 
I am here. 

Barbie {with her eyes still fixed upon him). Do you know 
Peter? Peter's an awfully good friend of Pat.'s. When they 
were as little as me, they used to play together and Pat. told 
me once that Peter used to braid her hair when they were out 
playing and the ribbon came off. (Chester zvriggles) 

Chester. Who is this Peter? 

Barbie. Don't you know Peter? Why everybody knows 
Peter. My father likes him. Does my father like you, Mr. 
Chessie — Mr. Fields? It's very nice to have my father like you. 
He only likes nice people. 

Chester. I suppose this Peter is a boy 

Barbie. UH-huh, — just about as old as you are, I think. 



18^ Bubbles. 

Only he's big and ever so strong. He can carry me on one 
shoulder. You couldn't do that. 

Chester (stiffly). I don't know that I should want to. 

Barbie (genially). I don't think I should like it either. 

Chester (getting up impatiently. Aside). Impudent kid! 
(To Barbara) Really my dear, I want to see your sister. Don't 
you think you had better go and call her? 

Barbie. Are you in love with my sister Pat.? 

Chester (muttering) . How I'd like to get my hands on this 
youngster ! 

Barbie. But you can't; can you? My father and my mother 
don't believe in spanking. 

Chester. It's easily seen that they don't. You act like the 
product of one of these new systems of education. 

Barbie. Peter isn't in love with Pat., but he likes her heaps. 

Chester. Does she — Well, young lady, I see I shall have 
to call your — sister, since you won't. 

Barbie. Oh, I'll go ! (Runs up steps, colliding with Pat. in 
door-way) 

Pat. (is about to scold ivhen she catches sight of Chester. 
Her expression changes immediately; she shuts the door on 
Barbie and goes down). Good morning, Mr. Fields, have you 
been here long? Barbie was to call me. 

Chester (huffily). Barbie chose not to. 

Pat. (sitting in the ivicker chair). Oh dear, don't you think, 
Mr. Fields, that one's family is apt to be trying at times? Bar- 
bie has been a perfect imp this morning. They all seem to 
take the greatest delight in teasing me lately. Even father who 
has always been so good. And grandfather is so annoying. He 
is always talking about when he was young and telling mother 
that she doesn't know how to bring us up. I really believe he 
has put some queer ideas into her head lately. I try to bear it 
with patience, but it is very discouraging, Mr. Fields. 

Chester. Poor little girl, I wish I could make you forget it 
all. 

Pat. (she turns her eyes upon him). You do more than any- 
one else. 

Chester. Ah, thank you. I wish I could believe that. 

ENTER R. E. Peter with tennis racket; he sees his mistake, 
acts as if about to go, then changes his mind and stands be- 
hind tree. 

(Pat. (coquettishly). Can't you? 



Bubbles. 19 

Chester (gloomily). Not when I hear tales of a certain Peter 
who used to braid your hair and all that. 

Pat. Barbie ! How I'd like to — (Breaks off and continues 
sweetly) You silly fellow, Peter is only a clumsy boy with 
whom I used to play when I was a child. I never see him now. 
(Peter acts as if about to say " Oh, ho! ") 

Chester (leaning a little nearer). Then I feel better. (Slight 
pause, in which Patricia gazes dreamily into space and Chester 
looks embarrassed) Miss Patricia, do you like my name? 

Pat. Yes, I think it's a very pretty name. 

Chester. Why don't you use it then? I've always thought 
it a very good name, myself. Suits me, don't you think? Your 
young sister seemed to think so too. (Remembers other words 
of Barbie's and frowns. Then tracing letters on the ground zvith 
his cane) Look here — can you follow this? (Peter moves cau- 
tiously nearer. Pat. leans but is unable to see) Do come over 
here and sit, won't you? 

Pat. Why? This is very comfortable, Mr. Fields. 

Chester. Oh, I think it would look more — friendly, (Pat. 
rises languidly and slouches daintily over to the bench. Peter 
mimics her derisively) Oh, but you can't follow unless you sit 
closer. (Pat. moves timidly closer) Now what does this spell? 

Pat. Oh ! C — h — e — s — t — Chester. 

Chester. I love to hear you say it. And this? 

Pat. P— a— t— r— i— oh ! 

Chester. Say it. 

Pat. (shyly). Patricia. 

Chester. Now say them together. 

Pat. Oh no. 

Chester. Please. 

Pat. Chester and Patricia. They sound very prettily together. 

Chester (moves impulsively nearer). Dearest! (Peter 
shakes his fist at Chester) 

Pat. Oh! How dare you! (haughtily) Don't ever say such 
a thing to me again. (Peter applauds noiselessly) 

Chester (tragically) . I see it is all over! You want me to 
go. (He stalks away majestically. Peter runs quickly behind 
tree) 

Pat. (gasping). Oh! no! Please don't go — Chester. 

Chester. Sweet girl. You didn't mean it. 

Pat. (shyly but firmly). No. I couldn't bear to have you go; 
but you mustn't — you know. (She pauses in embarrassment) 

Chester. Then we'll say, I'm addressing your little iinger. I 



20 Bubbles. 

really think you have the dearest little finger. (Looks at her sig- 
nificantly) But — the next one is prettier. (Peter tears his hair 
between fury and amusement. Pat. giggles and looks up at 
Chester coyly. Emboldened, he takes her hand; she makes an 
effort to release it) Ah, don't you remember how we settled it 
the other day? It is the clasp of true friendship, Patricia. 
(PfeTER makes a slight gutteral sound; Pat. turns quickly; Peter 
disappears beJiind tree) 

Pat. Yes, I remember. (She sighs) You make everything so 
clear, Chester. 

Chester (drawing a long breath). Do you feel it too, sweet 
girl? How good it is to find some one who understands you, 
who feels with you and for you. Ah, we have begim now, 
Patricia. All that has gone before was only small talk. Now 
there is real flow of soul. This is real, this is earnest ! You are 
of. a rare and sensitive nature, Patricia. You understand me 
thoroughly, I feel. But you are young, too. What is your age, 
Patricia? (He speaks zvitlt an air of benignity zvhich accords 
badly zvith his youthful appearance. Peter mimics liiin) 

Pat. (meekly). Eighteen last week. (Peter holds liis sides) 

Chester (sighs). Young! Young! To be sure / am only 
nineteen : but I have had experience — experience. Yet it is your 
innocence that charms. If the glass of your nature were rendered 
dim with the dust of experience, you would not cast such limpid 
reflections. Ah, that 

Pat. (in a discouraged tone). Please — (She struggles to with- 
drazv her hand) I'm going to sneeze! (She sneezes. Peter 
roars and is obliged to retreat. Chester moz'es away in disgust) 

Pat. (despairingly). Oh, are you oflfended? I couldn't help 
it really, Chester! 

Chester. It certainly was most untimely. An odious little 
contraction that one should control ! 

Pat. (leaning tozvard Jiim zvith a melting air). But you'll for- 
give me, Chester? I'll never sneeze again. (Peter looks dis- 
gusted) 

Chester. Oh I forgive you, dear child. I am of a generous 
nature. I can say that to you, Patricia, for I feel that you, out of 
all the world, understand me. (A delicious pause in zvhich tliere 
is expressive play of eyes; then a space which titreatens to prove 
embarrassing — in zvliich there seems to be notliing to say) 

Pat. (despairingly). Chester, do you play tennis? (Peter 
szvi)igs his racket) 

Chester. Tennis. Dear me, iiol A vulgar, violent gamej 



Bubbles. 21 

There is no chance for soulful feeling there. I believe with 
Emerson that a gentleman is not noisy: a lady is serene. (Turns 
and looks at her curiously) Is it possible that you play tennis, 
Patricia? 

Pat. (hastily). Oh I used to when I was young — (Feels the 
absurdity of Iter adjective) — er. I gave it up a long time ago. — 
After I met you, Chester, I seemed to lose interest in such things. 
You taught me how much soul there is in books. (A sudden 
thought strikes her and she begins impulsively). Oh, say, let's 
read ! (Suddenly recalls her nezv character and finishes de- 
murely) Shall we read together, Chester? 

Chester. You begin ; I love the sound of your voice, sweet 
Patricia. (Settles back comfortably and looks at her with an 
air of proprietorship. Pat. drags the book out from under the 
cushion of the chair) 

Pat. Where did we stop? Um — here it is. (Begins to read) 

" His face, always so expressive, is alive with agony now. 
He moves away from her with an ejaculation of keenest sorrow. 
' Oh love ! How heartless ! ' he murmurs, brokenly. His voice 
thrills her with its poignancy; it fills her with the burden of its 
tragic despair. In another moment he is gone. (EXIT R. e. Peter 
holding his head as if overcome) She stands for a time im- 
movable upon the balcony where he has left her, beautiful as ever 
she is. She clasps her hands convulsively to her breast. Is it a 
last farewell, she cries inwardly." (Ecstatically) Isn't it per- 
fectly beautiful ? 

Chester (dreamily). Beautiful — beautiful. 

Pat. But oh, I love that part we read yesterday. Shan't I 
read it again ? 

Chester (still dreamily). Read it again — (His voice floats 
off into space) 

Pat. (reads). " A sullen cloud has concealed the beauty of the 
moon. They stand together on the darkened walk; he a hand- 
some, mysterious figure, beside Miss Herrington in her filmy 
laces, caressed by the amorous breeze. 

Anon the cloud blows by and the full splendor of Diana's orb 
glows tenderly upon them. 

Lord Beauchamp stands motionless beside Aurelia " 

Chester (sitting up suddenly). We have never talked and 
walked by moonlight, Patricia. I think we should understand 
each other even better by moonlight. 

Pat. There will be a moon to-night. 

Chester. Can I hope that you will go? 



22 Bubbles. 

Pat. {eagerly). Oh yes! {Then hopelessly) But it doesn't 
rise until eleven to-night. I heard father say so last night. And 
I couldn't go then. 

Chester. But why? 

Pat. I'm sure mother wouldn't think of letting me go. 

Chester. Why ask her? 

Pat. {in indignant amazement). What! Not ask her! I'd 
like you to know, Chester Fields, I never do what my mother 
doesn't approve of ! 

Chester {indulgently) . Foolish girl. How can your mother 
know how much we mean to each other. Ought we not to make 
the most of our opportunities; ought we not to see as much of 
each other as possible? Has any third soul, do you think, the 
right to interfere with our communion ? Patricia, say I am right. 

Pat. {frozuning, at first unconvinced ; then stamping her foot). 
They have teased me disgustingly ! I have seen father wink at 
mother when I mentioned your name. And Barbie has been so 
tiresome. 

Chester. Patricia, the child is insufferable. Only an angelic 
nature like yours could endure her 

Pat. {positively glaring at him). What! My darling Barbie 
insufferable. Mr. Fields, do you realize that you are speaking of 
my sister ! 

Chester {sadly). Patricia, my dear friend, I love her because 
she belongs to you, but I cannot help seeing that she is very un- 
like you. You despise me because I speak the truth. {His 
voice breaks and he looks at her so sadly that she softens at 
once, and comes to him impulsively) 

Pat. Forgive me, Chester ! I was horrid. Oh, don't look at 
me so. Yes, I do know you are right. I do know it. {She 
says this as if trying to convince herself) 
Chester. And you will go? 

Pat. Yes, — but I'll ask mother and if she says no — {impul- 
sively) I'll go anyway! 

Chester {seizes her hand and holds up her little finger). 
Dearest — little finger! {Voices off stage are heard) 

ENTER L. e. Evans, Mrs. Evans and Grandfather in, travel- 
ing clothes. 

Evans. Well, father, you stood the trip pretty well. 

Granda {testily). Humph! Stood what? 



Bubbles. 23 

ENTER C. D. Barbie.. She rushes to her mother and flings her- 
self into her arms; embraces her grandfather also. 

Barbie. Mother ! Granda ! 

Evans. / seem to be left out of this. 

Barbie (assuming a comical air of dignity). How do you do, 
Mr. Evans? (She extends her hand graciously. This is evi- 
dently an old game of the two, for all seem to enjoy it im- 
mensely. They all laugh and Barbie dances around them joy- 
ously. Patricia comes fonvard slowly and kisses her mother) 

Mrs. Evans. Glad to see us back, dear? Ah, Mr. Fields, hovj 
do you do? 

Chester (stiffly). How do you do. How do you do, sir. 
(Shakes hands zvith Mr. Evans. Chester seems uncomfortable 
and moves about vaguely. Finally with a glance at Patricia 
EXITS L. E.) 

Barbie. Come on, Granda and father and everybody, I'll show 
you what we're going to have for supper. (Drags them along. 
As they reach c. d. Evans turns) 

Evans. Hello! Where has the young chap gone? 

Pat. He was just going, father. 

Evans. Too bad. You might have asked him to stay for tea. 

Barbie. Chessie isn't the stay-for-tea kind, father. (All 
make another start, but halt again) 

Granda (caustically). And who was the young gentleman, 
pray? Doesn't your mother teach you to introduce your guests, 
Patricia? Am I never to meet anyone who comes to this house? 

Mrs. Evans. Oh, father, I'm so sorry. 

Pat. (irritably). He was just going, I said. 

Barbie (cheerily). Come on, Granda; I don't think you would 
mind not meeting Chessie. 

Granda (patting her head). The child is always right. 
(EXEUNT c. D. Mr. Evans, Granda, and Barbie clinging to her 
father) 

Mrs. Evans (sits in chair). Well, dearie, has it been a long 
day? Have you been lonely? 

Pat. (pettishly). No, I wasn't lonely, mother. 

Mrs. Evans. What's the matter with my girl ? You don't 
look happy, dear. 

Pat. (a little irritably). I'm perfectly happy, mother. 

Mrs. Evans (sympathetically). Has Chester Fields been bor- 
ing you? 



^4 Bubbles. 

Pat. Boring me! Mother, I wish you wouldn't speak so of 
my friends. 

Mrs. Evans. Do you really like that boy? 

Pat, {vehemently) . Yes, I like him very much. I think it's 
perfectly horrid of you all to talk cf him as you do. 

Mrs. Evans {laughing). But, Pat., don't take it so to heart. 
Why, you used to bear teasing beautifully. Whatever has come 
over you ? I don't recognize my dear, naughty tom-boy these 
days. Come and kiss mother and don't pout. (She tries to take 
Pat. into her arms) 

Pat. Yes ! Treat me like a child, mother, I'm past eighteen 
and I'm tired of being babyed and treated as if I never had a 
sensible idea of my own. 

Mrs. Evans (a little sadly). Pat., when you have lived as long 
as I have, eighteen years won't seem so many to you. 

Pat. (sulkily). I'm sorry, mother, if I've hurt your feelings; 
but I don't think you realize how a girl of my age feels. I 
don't pretend to be as wise as you and father ; but I think I 
have a few ideas. And I think I have enough sense to know 
how to choose worth-while friends. 

Mrs. Evans. Why, my dear, of course you have ideas. 
(Aside) This is what comes of "leaving them alone." (To 
Pat.) And of course you know how to choose friends. You 
chose Peter when you were only a little girl. And you know how 
we all like and admire him. 

Pat, (impatiently). Oh, Peter! It's always Peter, 

Mrs. Evans (on the point of losing her temper. She feels it 
going and rises to go into the house. Gently). Pat., I'm afraid 
I'm a little ashamed of you. I'll leave you to get over your 
sulky mood. (Goes toward c. d.) 

Pat, (waits until her mother reaches the steps, then afraid 
her chance is going). Mother! 

Mrs. Evans. Yes? 

Pat, Mother, please, I'm sorry, I want to ask you something. 
(She feels that this is not the time for a request, but rushes on) 
Chester wants me to go walking to-night — in the moonlight. 
Please let me. 

Mrs. Evans. Why, Pat., the moon doesn't rise until almost 
midnight. 

Pat. Well? What difference does that make? 

Mrs. Evans (losing her temper entirely). Patricia Evans, I 
did think you had some common sense, but I doubt it now. Will 



Bubbles. 25 

I let you go skylarking off by moonlight with a sentimental boy 
at that time of night? I certainly will not! 

Pat. (throzving up her head). Very well, mother. {Walks 
rapidly toward house) 

Mrs. Evans {losing her anger almost immediately). Pat., 
come back, child. (Patricia EXITS c, d., zvithout turning her 
head. Mrs. Evans continues a little sadly) They do twist one's 
heart a little sometimes. And yet I find it almost a sweet pain. 
I wonder why it is we women seem to like to be hurt by the 
folks we love. Poor Pat. The child's in a bad way. Bless her ! 
She thinks " she has a few ideas ". So she has — a few too many 
for me, I'm afraid. I suppose it's only to be expected that she 
should want to assume a little dignity now that she is eighteen. 
(Breaks into a laugh) Why, I believe / too had some such ideas 
when I reached that ripe old age 1 {Walks about with bent 
head) Sometimes I think the only stable thing in this world is 
a mother. Everyone else wants to be up and away. Father 
dashes away to catch his morning train. And then Barbie goes 
dancing out to play with Jonathan. And now it has come to 
this — that Patricia wants to run off to meet her beau. And I 
stay in my house and think about them all. Only the other day, 
when Barbie and I were looking up at the robin's nest in the tree, 
she asked me how the baby robins learned to fly, and when I told 
her that the mother taught them, she gave me such a quaint look 
and said, " Mother, you never taught me how to fly ! It gave me a 
queer feeling then and now it seems to take on a double mean- 
ing. No, we don't have to teach our young ones how to fly ; 
they take wing of themselves when the time comes. And father 
says " leave them alone". How can I? Oh a man doesn't un- 
derstand ! If I leave them alone, they'll fly all the sooner. 
{Pulls herself together xvith an effort) Come, come ! Linda 
Evans, I believe you'd like to cry. You are positively growing 
maudlin, you silly old woman. Shame on you ! Run in and get 
your family something to eat. 

CURTAIN. 



26 Bubbles. 



Scene II. 

SCENE. — Same as Act T. Evening of the same day. The 
garden is in darkness save for a faint glimmer that foretells 
the rising of the moon. The only sound to be heard is the 
musical chirruping of tree-toads. DISCOVERED Chester 
moving cautiously and noiselessly tozvard the house. When 
he reaches a spot directly under the second-story zvindow on 
the right, he is seen to crouch and grope about for a minute 
or two. Then there is heard the sound of pebbles striking 
the house. A short pause. 

ENTER Patricia c. d., clad in a long hooded cape. Not until 
she has closed the door carefully does she speak. 

Pat. (whispering). Are you there, Chester? Isn't it great 
fun! 

Chester. Patricia! I knew you would come! Let us go at 
once. 

Pat. Why, where is the moon? Isn't it coming up? 

Chester. It is only half-past ten; I couldn't wait another 
minute. We'll walk about until it rises. You are not afraid? 

Pat. Oh no-o ! But isn't it unusually dark out there? (They 
move slozvly away; suddenly Patricia gives vent to a stifled 
scream and stumbles back toward the house) Oh! What was 
that ! It struck my face. Oh, it was horrible ! 

Chester (soothingly). Only a bat, Patricia. 

Pat. (another scream). A bat! Oh, I know it is in my hair! 
Chester, take it out ! Take it out I 

Chester (loftily). My dear child, that old idea is quite dead. 
The theory that bats have an affinity for hair is ridiculous, ab- 
surd, prcpos 

Pat. Oh ! I know it's there. I can feel it flying — ugh ! Ches- 
ter, take it out! 

Chester (touches her head condescendingly, then steps back 
with dignity). Foolish girl, you have on your hood. Let us go 
now. 

Pat. (shakily). Please, — let's not go yet, Chester. We'll sit 



Bubbles. 27 

here on the step and wait for the moon. Perhaps bats can't see 
by 

Chester. Patricia, this is foolishness. Surely you trust me 
to take care of you. 

Pat. {hastily). Yes — surely. But are you very strong, Ches- 
ter? In case anything should happen, you know 

Chester. Are you going to spoil our walk just for a little 
foolish fear. If you had no trust in me, I wonder that you 
agreed to go. (Moves over to the bench and sits dozvn moodily) 

Pat. {nervously). Chester, please don't sit so far away. 
Come back, please. I'm ready to go. 

Chester {approaching her with outstretched arm). Come 
then. (Patricia holds back) 

Pat. {hysterically). Just a minute, Chester. How still every- 
thing is! Is it always so quiet at night, Chester? 

Chester. Of course. That is the mystic wonder of the night. 
Noise would make it hideous. 

Pat, {plaintively). Then I wish it could be hideous for a few 
minutes. (Barbie in her nightgown, luith a lighted candle in 
one hand, appears in zvindow at the left. She throws out a 
large shoe which falls with a heavy thud) 

Barbie {ivhispers loudly). Good luck! (Barbie disappears) 

Pat. {in a frightened tone). Oh go, Chester! Run! It's 
Barbie ; she has wakened the whole house. I must go back. Go ! 
(Pushes Chester vehemently and turns back, calling softly) 
Barbie, oh Barbie ! 

Barbie (appears at the window; in a cheerful tone). Haven't 
you gone yet? 

Pat. SHH ! Barbie, come down. For Heaven's sake, don't 
wake anybody up ! 

Barbie (disappearing). All right. (Reappears in the doorway 
with the candle, which she places on the top step. Looking about 
with a disappointed air) Where's Chessie? 

Pat, (seising Barbie's arm). Barbie, did you hear anybody 
stirring? 

Barbie (cheerfully). Only Granda snoring. 

Pat. SHH ! Not so loud. Oh Barbie, I depend on you. 
Promise me you won't tell father and mother about this. I 
could never live if they knew. (She zvrings her Iiands and 
clasps Barbie distractedly) Promise me, Barbie! 

Barbie. I won't tell them, Pat. Peter says I'm the only 
woman he knows that can keep a secret. But aren't you going 
to elope after all? 



28 Bubbles. 

Pat. (almost in tears). Oh no, no, not to-night. I mean we're, 
never going to. We were only going for a walk. 

Barbie (in a tone of deep disappointment). Oh Pat.! I've 
been waiting three weeks for you to elope. And now you aren't 
going to ! I threw father's old shoe out to wish you good luck. 
Oh dear ! (As if struck by an idea) Was Chessie afraid to 
elope, Pat.? 

Pat. Barbie dear, don't — don't talk. Let's go in. Heavens! 
there's that candle. Oh blow it out. (She wrings her hands 
helplessly as Barbie bends to blow out the candle. Then she 
speaks in a sudden, passionate tvhisper) Oh, I hate Chester 
Fields ! I hate him ! 

Barbie (huskily as the door closes on them). So do I, Pat.; 
I hate him too. 

CURTAIN. 



ACT III. 

SCENE. — Same as Act I. Early evening of the next day. 

ENTER R. E. Barbie, running and laughing merrily, closely pur- 
sued by Peter, who chases her around the tree several 
times, finally catching her and seating her fairly in the chair 
before ivhich he stands holding her arms to prevent her es- 
cape. 

Peter. Now then, Barbara Frietchie, will you run away from 
your uncle again ! 

Barbie (breathlessly) . Let's play Barbara Frietchie, Peter! 

Peter. Up to your window then, old woman! (Barbie clam- 
bers up to her seat in the tree) 

Barbie. " Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then. 

Bowed with her fourscore years and ten. 

In her attic window the staff she sat, 
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Peter. " Up the street came the rebel tread, (Marches 
around) 
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 



Bubbles. 29 

Under his slouched hat left and right (Pulls Hat 

down) 
He glanced; the old flag met his sight. 

Halt ! the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
Fire! out blazed the rifle-blast. (Pantomimes shoot- 
ing) 

Barbie. " It shivered the window, pane and sash ; 
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick as it fell, from the broken staff 
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 

She leaned far out on the window-sill, (Barbara 

leans forward) 
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

" Shoot if you must, this old gray head, 
But spare your country's flag," she said. 

Peter. " Who touches a hair of yon gray head. 
Dies like a dog ! March on," he said. 

Barbie (ecstatically). Didn't we do it beautifully, Peter? OK 
Peter, you look just like Stonewall. 

Peter (feigning anger; in a terrific voice). What! I look 
like a stonewall ! I like that, young lady ! 

Barbie (giggling). Let's do it again, Peter. 

Peter. Heavens to Betsey, Barbie, you'll kill me. A little 
more of this active life, and I'll pine away. (Sits on the bench 
and feigns exhaustion) 

Barbie. No you won't, Peter. You're lots stronger than that 
old Chester Fields. (At mention of the name, Peter looks up 
thoughtfully) 

Peter. I say, Barbie, come down and talk to your uncle. 

ENTER c. D. Mrs. Evans with a white cloth; she goes to table. 

Barbie (sweetly). You must ask me very politely. 

Peter (leaves bench, bends on one knee, and looks tip with 
mock entreaty). Madam, I implore you to descend! 

Barbie (graciously). I obey, sir. (Comes down and sits be- 
side him) 



80 Bubbles. 

Mrs. Evans. Barbie, child, you make a perfect slave of Peter. 
You mustn't wear him out. 

Barbie. He can't wear out, mother, he's a stonewall. Aren't 
you, Peter? 

Mrs. Evans. Make yourself useful, Peter. Clear that table, 
sir, and I'll ask you to stay to tea. 

Peter (springing up). "At that, he sprang to his feet." 

Barbie (gleefully). I'll help. 

Mrs. Evans. Don't be too eager. We shan't have anything 
but strawberries and bread and butter. [EXIT c. d. into house. 

Peter. Think I can last over night on that? (Off stage 
sound of piano is heard. The tune is carried well for a minute 
or two; then discords are heard, and the performance ends zvith 
a loud crash as if the keys were struck in anger) 

Peter. Hello! What's that, Barbie? 

Barbie. Oh, that's Pat. That's the fourth time she has done 
that to-day. (Peter removes magazines, books, and flowers from 
the table and lays the cloth) 

Peter. Whew ! In a bad temper, is she ? 

Barbie. Uh-huh, ever since last night — (Realises her mis- 
take and stops). Oh! but Peter, (Very seriously) I can't tell you 
about it. 

Peter. Can't be done, eh. Barbie? (Looks very curious, but 
is unwilling to probe her) 

Barbie (clapping hands). Yes, I can tell you! I only prom- 
ised not to tell father and mother. 

Peter. Fire away, then ! 

Babrie. It's awfully exciting, Peter. Last night — (Leans to- 
ward him with mystery in her tone and look) SHH ! 

ENTER c. D. Mrs. Evans, carrying teacups, plates, knife, and 
loaf of bread, 

Mrs. Evans. Every man has his share of work in this estab- 
lishment. Peter, cut the bread as usual. 

Barbie. And I'll put it on the plate. [EXIT Mrs. Evans c. d. 

Peter. On with the dance. Barbie ! My ears are flapping. 
(The child looks up curiously to see whether this is true. Peter 
cuts the bread carefully, stopping often to catch points of the 
tale) 

Barbie. Last night — Pat. almost eloped with Chester Fields ! 

Peter (standing, knife in Iiand). The dickens! Eloped! 

Barbie. I said almost. I threw a shoe after them and that 



Bubbles. 31 

scared poor Chessie away — like Little Miss Muffet! (Giggles) 
Peter. Do you mean to say that Pat. Evans actually meant to 
run off with that fellow! (In his indignation, he throws down 
the knife and walks angrily back and forth) 

Barbie. I said almost. You didn't listen. Pat. said it wasn't 
an elopement — only a walk. 

Peter (drawing a long breath). Barbara Frietchie, if you 
weren't my best friend, I'd never forgive you. You gave your 
uncle a terrible fright. Frights aren't good for stonewalls; don't 
you know that, little girl? (Takes up the knife and begins to 
cut methodically, all the zvhile muttering to himself. Barbie, 
in the meantime, picks up Jonathan and climbs to her perch, 
where she sits holding converse with the doll) Pat. Evans out 
at midnight with that fool ! He ought to be strung up by the 
thumbs ! A fellow that would ask a girl to steal out at that hour 
of the night! Pat. — just a kid too. But she ought to know bet- 
ter. The Lord help that fellow the next time I meet him! 

ENTER c. D. Mrs. Evans, zvith bowl of strawberries; Evans 
with newspaper under one arm, plate of butter in hand; Pat. 
looking peevish, with pitcher of cream. Granda brings up 
the rear. They all take places at the table except Evans, 
who sits on the bench. 

Mrs. Evans (beaming upon her family). Isn't this fun, chil- 
dren? Father, put away your newspaper and we'll begin. Why, 
where is Barbie? 

Babrie (still in the mood of the game). I'm here! But I have 
to be asked to come down. 

Peter (bending before her). Madam, the board is spread. 
Will your Majesty deign to favor us with your presence? 

Barbie. Sir, I obey you. (She descends. Peter takes her 
arm and leads her to her place. Pat. sulks; Peter eats wtih 
gusto; Mrs. Evans serves strawberries; Evans is still deep in 
his paper) 

Pat. Mother, I do wish you would make Barbie stop that 
nonsense. 

Mrs. Evans. Why, Pat., how can you be so childish. 

Barbie. Mother, when I play games with Peter, it's non- 
sense; but when Pat. plays games with Chessie, it's — what is it? 

Peter (sotto voce). Romance! 

Mrs. Evans. Sh-h, dear. Won't you pass the bread to Peter. 
Strawberries, Peter? 



33 Bubbles. 

Peter (facetiously). In the language of the vulgar, you bet 
your life. (Barbie passes the bread with a pretty air of re- 
sponsibility. On being offered the plate, Peter rises and bows 
with elaborate gallantry) My dear Miss Evans, won't you al- 
low me to assist you in your arduous labors? 

Barbie {with young ladyish dignity, somewhat spoiled by a 
giggle). No, I thank you, sir. (Passes plate to Pat., who takes 
no notice of her. Mischievously) " Ah, dreaming, Miss Her- 
rington ? " 

Pat. (glaring). I think, young lady, I've had enough of your 
jokes. 

Mrs. Evans. Have I two grown-up daughters who are going 
to spoil this pleasant party? 

Barbie. Mother dear, I'll be good. I'm ashamed. So is Pat. 
Aren't you, Pat.? (No answer. Barbie passes to her father, 
who drops his paper) 

Evans. Well, well, begun, have we? How's the Lady Barbara 
this evening? 

Barbie (playing the game). Oh, I'm pretty well, Mr. Evans. 

Evans (respectfully). And your friend Jonathan? Has he 
come back or are you still lamenting his loss? 

Barbie. Father, you can't guess who found him. 

Evans. You did. 

Barbie. No. 

Evans. Peter. 

Barbie, No. 

Evans (rapidly). Pat? Mother? Granda? 

Barbie. No, no, no ! 

Evans. What! none of those? I've run through the whole 
establishment. 

Barbie (gleefully). But he doesn't belong to the establishment 
■ — I think he'd like to though. Chessie Fields found him, father. 

Evans. Oh, the young chap. 

Barbie. Father, what do you think? Pat. and I both hate 
Chessie; we talked it all over last night. Didn't we, Pat.? (Pat. 
starts perceptibly; Peter looks terrified) 

Mrs. Evans.. Barbie child, come and eat your berries. 

Granda (suddenly). James, I repeat, you ought to have pad- 
locks on all the doors of this house. I am sure that something 
unusual took place in this house last night. I was awakened by 
a light shining on my window; I was just about to investigate 
when it disappeared. I can't say that I actually heard anything, 



Bubbles. B3 

but I am sure there was some scoundrel prowling about. (Evans 
and Mrs. Evans exchange amused glances; Pat. gives Barbie a 
startled look; Peter winks covertly at Barbie) But, of course, 
you won't take my advice. I am absolutely ignored in this house. 

Evans {good-naturedly). You must have been dreaming, 
father. 

Granda. What say? 

Mrs. Evans. He says you must have been dreaming. 

Granda (snappishly). Eh? Good Gad! Everybody in this 
house mumbles. 

Barbie (coming round to Granda's side and screaming in his 
ear). Granda, I know you were dreaming! I heard you! 

Granda (beaming). You heard me. That's my pet. Of 
course you heard me. (Pats her head) Nobody ever has any 
trouble hearing me. (Subsides and eats again. Pat. draws a 
long breath) 

Peter (cheerfully). Play you a set after supper, Pat.? 

Pat. (withe ringly). Don't you ever think of anything but 
tennis? 

Peter (comically). I try not to. 

Barbie. Pat., why didn't Chester Fields ever ask you to play 
tennis ? 

Pat. (rising with sudden passion). I don't see why I should 
be taunted with that name every minute of the day ! I think you 
are all perfectly odious ! (Bursts into tears and runs c. d. into 
house leaving the party in consternation) 

Peter. I've done it now. All my fault. 

Barbie (ivailing). No, I've done it now. (She runs into 
house after Patricia) 

Mrs. Evans (rising zvith decision). James, this can't go on 
any longer. Pat. is wearing herself thin over this foolish affair. 
I've " left them alone " too long. I won't have my dear girl 
make a fool of herself over a sentimental young 

Peter (joining in indignantly). Idiot! 

Evans. Once you have an idea, that is a good one, stick to it. 
"Leave 'em alone," my dear. (Mrs. Evans attempts to speak) 
Wait a minute. Leave 'em alone, Peter and Pat., this time. 
Peter, you bring my little girl back to her sweet senses, and I'll — 
oh, I'll give you a seven dollar tennis racket. 

Peter. Done — racket or no racket ! ( They shake hands. 
The family c. d., leaves the garden. Peter sits down on bench, 
picks up Jonathan and handles the doll nervously) 



34 Subbles. 

ENTER c. D. PATRrciA, making final use of her handkerchief and 
flings herself into the chair. 

Pat. Oh, are you still here? 

Peter. As usual, Pat. (Seriously) We've been friends a long 
time now, haven't we, Pat.? 

Pat. (peevishly). Oh, use another word. I'm sick and tired of 
friends. 

Peter. Well, pals, then. 

Pat. That's better. It's more vulgar. I'm in a vulgar mood 
to-day. 

Peter. And don't you think, if one pal sees the other getting 
into a hole, it's his business to come to the rescue? (Pat. pre- 
tends not to hear) Gee ! it hurts a fellow to see a girl he likes 
making herself sick about a moon-faced 

Pat. (exhaustedly) . Oh don't, Peter. 

Peter (warming to his task). I'm not going to begin by saying 
that I'm older than you and therefore have better sense. Wish 
I could, but there's only six months between us. You stand for 
it anyway. 

Pat. (sarcastically) . Oh, don't spare me, Peter. I am quite 
used to that sort of thing. 

Peter. But I don't think age has anything to do with sense. 
Gee ! you know a lot more than I do about most things. 

Pat. Then is there any need of continuing? 

Peter (not noticing). Girls are uncanny creatures. They have 
a sort of sense of things that takes a fellow's breath sometimes. 

Pat. (wearily). If you have anything to say, for heaven's 
sake, say it. 

Peter (bursting out). I have this to say. You like that fel- 
low. Fields. I don't. But that doesn't make any difference. If 
you like him, go and have a good time with him. But you're not 
having a good time so far as I can see. Pat., I'll tell you what it 
is. I hate that fellow! And — darn it! I'll be honest — I'm jeal- 
ous of him ! I can't for the life of me, see why a girl can't be 
nice to two fellows at once. That isn't what I meant to say. 
Hang it all ! There must be something wrong about a friendship 
that makes a girl turn down all her old friends, and put on a 
sour disposition, and have hysterics for nothing at all. I suppose 
you think you are in love with that chap. You take my word for 
it; if that's being in love, you don't want anything to do with it. 
Do you know what yoxi need? You need a good game of tennis. 
(Coaxingly) Come along, girl. Will you? 



Bubbles. 85 

I*AT. '{rishig hysterically') . Peter, 3on't. If you say another 
word, I'll cry. And I can't do that because Chester Fields is 
coming in a few minutes. (Peter stiffens) I sent for him. I 
had to. {With a change of tone) Peter — I — I'll be nice to you 
again, if you'll only leave me alone now. (Peter sloivly EXITS 
R. E. Patricia sinks into the chair and seems on the point of 
bursting into tears) 

ENTER Chester r. e. 



Chester {advancing to Patricia and speaking very haughtily). 
Patricia, I think you owe me an apology. 

Pat. (stonily). I owe you an apology. May I inquire for 
■what? 

Chester. For your ridiculous behaviour of last night. 

Pat. My ridiculous behaviour of last night! 

Chester. You promised me solemnly that you would walW 
with me by moonlight. I believed you, fool that I was. And you 
betrayed my trust. A girl that doesn't keep her appointments is 
not worthy of my notice. 

Pat. (rising slowly and speaking deliberately). I seem to see 
you now for the first time. I suppose this is all my fault. 

Chester. It most certainly is! 

Pat. You don't understand. I mean it is my fault that we 
ever were friends. I thought you were wonderful — a hero. 
You, (Looks at him scornfully and breaks into a laugh) I 
thought I liked the sentimental stuff we talked. I was a silly 
little fool and you were another. But it was my fault; / own 
it. The girl is always to blame in such cases. (Talks with a 
mature air, of which one can see she is rather proud) Well, oui" 
friendship is at an end. 

Chester (pompously). I have already said so. 

Pat. (flaring up). Then it has been said twice and that is 
enough ! — Oh, I wish you would go ! I am sick and tired of see- 
ing you and hearing you. Do you know what I think you are ? — 
I think you are a milksop! Go away! (Sinks into her chair 
and watches him as he walks rapidly away. He turns and speaks 
with choked dignity) 

Chester. I trust. Miss Patricia Evans, that you will live 
(Trips over a clump of grass and finishes ignominiously) to re- 
gret this. [EXIT R. E. 



3Q BuTjljles. 

ENTER Peter r. e. 

Peter. What have you done to the Field's chap? I met him 
just now looking pretty sick and hot. 

Pat. He's gone, Peter ! Gone for good. Oh, I'm so happy. 
(Spins round on one heel) 

Peter. You don't mean to say you've dropped him? Good 
for you, Pat.! Shake! {Shake hands heartily like two boys) 

Pat, {with winning frankness). Peter, do you know what 
I've been? I've been a perfect goose. 

Peter {heartily). You certainly have! 

Pat. {miffed). Well, you needn't be horrid about it. I ad- 
mitted it. Oh Peter, he was nasty ; he said such impudent things- 

Peter. The cad ! I'll settle him. {Starts off) 

Pat. Peter, who's the goose now? Come back. 

Peter. Ah, let me give him one good jab, Pat. I've been itch- 
ing to get my hands on him for a long time. 

Pat. Oh, don't bother. {Holds up her little finger, looks at it, 
and begins mincingly) Peter, don't you think I have a pretty 
little finger? 

Peter {pretending to be bewildered) . Always thought you had 
a good-looking fist. {Aside) I've got to be careful now ! 

Pat. " A good-looking fist ! " Oh Peter, I fear you are not so 
poetical as Chester. He said it was the " dearest little finger." 

Peter. The chump ! {Both laugh. Aside) I wonder whether 
she would laugh if she knew I heard the whole thing? 

ENTER c. D. Evans, Mrs. Evans and Barbie who stand in the 
doorway and zvatch smilingly. Barbie holds a hand of 
each. 

Pat. " Richard's himself again ! " Peter, I'll play you three 
sets and beat you ! (Claps her hands) 

Peter. Just try it ! A crotcheted tie to a box of Huyler's ! Is 
it a go? 

Pat. It's a go! (They snatch up tennis rackets from the 
bench and run off R. e. together) 

Barbie (seizing Jonathan and running after them). We'll be 
the " empire," Jonathan. 

Evans (coming down into the garden). If you have a good 
idea, stick to it. "Leave 'em alone". Eh, Linda? 

Mrs. Evans (smiling). Yes — it has worked this time. The 
question is, — will it another time? 

Evans. Oh thou Martha ! 

CURTAIN. 



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